Climbing the Unclimbable Mountain

By H. Linn Murphy

I've been hitting it hard with NANOWRIMO and have thus been kind of a sandbag where other writing is concerned. But I take pen in hand, tonight, to write about something close to my heart.

In my calling in church, I hear a great many things about families and children in our ward and others. Some people might think this job is one to seek because it carries with it a sheen of responsibility. "Oh, you're a ____. That must be so interesting. I'm only a ______.

Whoever seeks such a job is smoking the good stuff, however. (Merely a jest.) Knowing all of these things about people can be a real burden. I don't know if it's just me, but I find myself feeling very inadequate because I come up against these insurmountable-seeming mountains people are battling to climb, and I can only offer them an ice pick or maybe an energy drink, when what they actually need is a helicopter or at least a longer, stronger rope.

Today, instead of writing on my WIP and doing something with my son, I went to pick up a stranded friend and listen to her while she unloaded for four hours. She is one of these mountain climbers who seem only to come up against a higher peak whenever they look.

What can one say to all of it except "I think I feel your pain" or "Maybe we can put your name in the temple." I'm certain that after I visit with many of these people, they probably think, "That woman is a full-on loon. What's she doing in that calling?" I'm wondering the same thing. I'm totally waiting for the mantle of the calling thing to kick in. At times I have felt that happen, but not often enough.

I don't want to be one of those people who come off as uncaring or fake or otherwise unacceptable. But I am a human. And I have not been through most of the things they are facing (hopefully never will). Where am I going with this? Maybe all we can do in these situations is try to understand where they're coming from. Maybe the only two people who can completely understand are Heavenly Father and His Son. But we can at least endeavour to try.

At any rate, happy climbing, and here's your drink.